


The End

by tigeressdion



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: AU From s02e09, Episode: s02e09 Coda, Execution, F/M, Gen, Hurt Aramis, Hurt Everyone, Hurt No Comfort, I nearly cried just thinking about this fic, I'm Sorry, Just very sad, Sad, Sad Ending, The Accused broke me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-22
Updated: 2015-03-23
Packaged: 2018-03-19 03:59:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3595482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tigeressdion/pseuds/tigeressdion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the end, they all knew they could do nothing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I only just watched The Accused, and it broke me in so many ways. And of course, my mind hates me, so I came up with this.

In the end, they all knew that they could do nothing. Of course, Aramis had had his momentary burst of righteous fury, but that flame guttered out after seconds. The next time that flame sparked again he was locked in manacles in the King's dungeon. Porthos was riding to Spain, d'Artagnan was being screamed after by Constance in the cell next to him, and who knew where Treville and Athos were.  
To his surprise, Aramis spent several days in the cell. He had imagined they were to execute him immediately. But no, they take time to plan.  
In that time he is allowed visits. Supervised, of course, but Treville, Athos and d'Artagnan all see him.  
He thanked Treville, for giving him the chance to be a Musketeer, for teaching him so much, for handing him the life he'd longed for.  
He talked with Athos, warned him to look after Porthos, that it was his turn to be taken care of. He told him to be strong, begged him not to lose himself in drink once more. To turn to less harmful forms of comfort.  
He gave d'Artagnan advice. Even made a few quips. The lad was having none of it.   
He apologised to them all, and asked them to seek Porthos' forgiveness most of all. He apologised to Constance as well; the strong, wonderful woman never shed a tear. He prayed that God would give his apologies to Anne, to his son. He prayed to God himself for forgiveness.  
Aramis realised, belatedly, that they all still meant to free him. Foolish, loyal friends. Porthos had not yet returned from Spain, but his brothers still thought they could find a way. They believed. They believed in Aramis, they believed he would once again defy death. He was sorry that he would fail them yet again.   
Rochefort meant to have him beheaded, Aramis realised this only when he was escorted from the dungeons. The sunlight blinded him, and when the glare receded, Aramis almost wept at the sight of the outside. God's creation had never looked so beautiful. The feeling quickly receded, as the glare had, when he saw the scaffold. A crowd had been gathered around it, Musketeers from his regiment were there, women he knew, and there, at the front of the mass; as though it could make a difference now, were Athos, d'Artagnan and Treville.  
Aramis was marched up the scaffold, he passed the executioner and stood at the front of it.   
"I have only one request," he said, and had to swallow quickly, lest his voice fail him. "Remember me for the man I was, not what they made me."  
Aramis hadn't expected much, silence mostly. What he received instead was something of a shock. His Musketeer brothers, every one gathered there, applauded him. They cheered and shouted for him, the Red Guards had to restrain them.  
He turned and knelt, removed his hat and awaited the blow. With a flick of his hand, he tossed his hat in the air.  
The raised sword began to descend.  
Aramis began to see flashes of his life.  
Listening to the voice of the priest in his village's Church.  
His father gently teaching him how to use his distillery.  
Isabelle.  
Winning his first duel against the Red Guard. The cloak had seemed black against the crimson blood spurting from his heart.  
Earning his pauldron, Marsac had cheered him on that day.  
Laughing with Porthos in a tavern.  
Sparring with Athos.  
Meeting Adele.  
The sword had almost reached his neck.  
His hat began to fall.  
Hanging from Adele's window as his brothers laughed beneath him.  
Meeting d'Artagnan for the first time.  
The four of them, together, brothers at arms.  
Defending King and Country.  
Anne.  
His son.  
Treville.  
D'Artagnan.  
Athos.  
Porthos.  
Anne.  
His son.  
Loyal.  
To the end.  
His hat fell beside him.  
René Aramis was not afraid to die. Whatever awaited him in the afterlife was God's will.  
It all ended with a flash of white.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The events after Aramis' execution.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate you all.

In the end, they simply couldn't stay. It took them months to prepare, to be able to hold simple conversations long enough to organise what needed organising.  
Treville did them the biggest favour, reinstated as Captain, he dismissed them all.  
They weren't really sure where they wanted to go. They weren't really sure what they wanted.  
Athos wanted a drink, but he'd promised Aramis he wouldn't.  
Porthos had wanted to kill Rochefort, but Milady had reappeared one day and told them he was no longer an issue.  
D'Artaganan just wanted his friend back.  
They all wanted their brother back.  
Anne, now a lonely ghost who haunted the palace, wanted the father of her son back.  
Constance wanted the cheerful, witty man back who'd made them all so happy.  
Treville wanted one of his favourite Musketeers back.  
On occassion, Louis wanted that Musketeer back, what was it… Eramis? Aranis? Something like that. He'd always been a funny one.  
Milady found herself wanting the Musketeer back; he'd brought a smile to Athos' face like not many could.  
Marguerite wanted the man she'd loved back.  
When they finally left, it was a quiet affair. No one had it in them to be loud.  
A surprisingly large group rode from the Musketeer's garrison that day.  
Two women, one riding at the side of the man with the weary face, and the other riding at the side of the boy with the sad eyes.  
The three men, the one with the weary face; the one with the sad eyes; and the one with the slumped shoulders, rode in a line.  
Five people rode from that gate, determined to live on; to survive if nothing else.  
Five people, living, breathing, grieving.  
Five people.  
And one ghost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jokes, I love you all, I just also love making people suffer.  
> But you know what makes me love you more? Comments. (Also kudos), But comments are just better.

**Author's Note:**

> So, what did you think? Let me know, and I hope I didn't scar anyone of you irreparably.


End file.
